


Break On Me

by Moit



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: Sometimes life gets the best of you. Zach is here to help Chris figure things out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where I'm going with this, but it feels good to be writing again. 
> 
> The title comes from Keith Urban's song "Break On Me."

It’s white knuckles down the 405. There’s a thunderstorm overhead, and while they desperately need the rain, it’s making everyone drive like they’ve never seen it before. Brakes glow up and down the north and south-bound lanes like Christmas lights.

Behind the wheel Zach’s leg is starting to cramp from constantly jerking from accelerator to brake pedal. He’s forty minutes from home. All he has to do is power through, and then he can change into sweatpants and curl up with Chris on the couch.

Zach looks at the dashboard clock and sighs. It’s 6:05. He should have been home an hour ago, but one of the film execs was late, and then two others couldn’t come to an agreement. Ultimately, the meeting was a waste, and Zach will be lucky if he makes it home by seven.

The person in front of him slams on the brakes, and Zach’s reflexes barely keep him from buying the back of their Audi.

“Fuck!” He slams the steering wheel in frustration.

The next exit looms in the distance promising a town called Hermosillo, and while Zach doesn’t have the faintest fucking clue how to get back to Silver Lake from there, he’s sure his GPS can figure it out.

It takes several heart-pounding minutes to reach the exit, during which time he’s afraid he’ll be forced to pass it with the flow of traffic, but he makes it. At the next intersection, he turns right. East seems like the best way to get home since the 405 is west of Silver Lake. Then he pulls over so he can call Chris.

“Where **are** you?” Chris asks as soon as he picks up the phone.

“The parking lot of a Wendy’s,” Zach replies sardonically. “Somewhere called Hermosillo. The 405 was a mess, so I got off because I figured I could get home faster taking city streets.”

Chris was silent for a minute, and Zach knew he was googling directions. “That puts you like an hour away.”

“And since I was going about 10 miles an hour on the highway, I figure I’ll get there about the same time but at least it will feel faster. Hopefully. Did you eat?”

“No.” Chris sounds morose. “I was waiting for you.”

“If you’re hungry, go ahead and eat. I’ll just pick something up.” He glances dubiously at the Wendy’s.

“I can wait...”

“No, it’s okay. Really, Chris. We can make some popcorn or something tonight.” He knows Chris is probably pacing the floor and looking forlornly at dinner.

“Okay. I’ll let you go so you can get back on the road. Be safe. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Zach ends the call and drops his phone in the center console.

The GPS says one hour and five minutes without taking the 405. Sighing, Zach puts the car in reverse. Hopefully, he can make it in less.

It ends up taking him just under 50 minutes to pull into the driveway. He parks in the garage next to Chris’s Porsche with relief.

He grabs his bag and lets himself into the air conditioned coolness of the house. When none of the dogs come running to greet him, Zach frowns. They must be in the den with Chris.

Toeing off his shoes, Zach goes to find his family.

As expected, Chris is lying under a blanket watching TV. Skunk is curled in the space made by his knees. A streak of black is all he sees before Wednesday is jumping all over his dress pants. Zach winces, but scratches behind her ears anyway.

“Don’t get up on my account,” Zach says without malice.

“Skunk is comfortable. I’m glad you’re home,” says Chris.

With Wednesday biting at his heels, Zach crosses the room and leans down for a kiss. “I’m gonna go put on some comfy clothes. Where’s Noah?”

“Either in his bed or our bed. I let him in about fifteen minutes ago.”

Zach walks back out of the room and loses Wednesday at the stairs. She can get up them all right, but she’s afraid to come back down. Noah is sleeping across their neatly-made bed.

“Hey, buddy.” The old dog raises his head when he hears Zach approach and licks his master in appreciation as Zach gives him ear scratches, too. “You in here avoiding Wednesday?” She’s only four months old, and she’s been driving Noah nuts. She thinks his tail is a chew toy, and she annoys him until he gets fed up and put her in her place with a low _woof_. They’ve been putting baby gates up in various doorways around the house to keep Wednesday out and give Noah some peace. For now, he’s safe from her by staying upstairs, but it’s getting difficult for him for him to walk up and down them.

Zach hangs up his slacks and changes into a pair of sweatpants and one of Chris’s Dodgers t-shirts. It’s from the dirty clothes hamper and smells like his cologne. It’s just what Zach needs right now.

He gives Noah one last scratch and heads back downstairs.

Wednesday is sitting at the bottom of the staircase whining, and she starts barking happily when she sees Zach.

“Come here, you little monster.” He picks up the wriggling puppy and tucks her into the curve of his arm. She refuses to sit still, and he nearly drops her twice. He contemplates dropping her on Chris since she’s technically his dog, but that would upset Skunk, so he decides against it.

In the den she demands to be released. Zach bends over to put her down. She runs to the corner of the room, and returns gleefully with something in her mouth. Dutifully, Zach holds his hand out for the toy. Only it’s not a toy. It’s one of his shoes. A really expensive shoe.

“Wednesday,” Zach growls. He snatches the shoe out of her mouth, and she stands on her back legs waiting eagerly for him to throw it. “Chris,” Zach sighs, brandishing the shoe at him, “what happened today?”

Chris lifts the blanket to his eyeballs. “So Winnie... May have... mistaken? Your shoe... for one of her toys...”

“One of her _many_ toys.” Zach gestures at no less than five squeaky, fluffy dog toys in various states of destruction scattered across the floor. “Better question: why were my shoes where she could reach them? I know I put these in the closet.”

“I might have worn them.” Chris’s blue eyes flick to the television and back. “When I took the dogs for a walk.”

Zach sighs. “And you kicked them off and left them by the door.”

Chris nods.

“You owe me a new pair.”

“I’ll buy you two,” Chris says, lowering the blanket from his face. “And I’ll let you fuck me tonight.”

“I fuck you every night.”

“I made dinner?”

“I had In-N-Out.”

“Okay, what can I do?”

Zach plops down in front of the couch and allows Wednesday to bound into his lap. He tilts his head back and says, “You can scratch my head. Sorry if I smell; I’ve been in the car for hours.”

Chris’s hands dig into Zach’s hair and—oh, that’s good. “No,” he leans forward, “you smell like shampoo and cologne. And you’re wearing my shirt.”

“Smells like you. Guess we’re even. What are you watching?”

“Law and Order: SVU.”

“Girl raped and left in the alley?”

“Left in her apartment, actually.”

Zach hums in reply.

“How was your meeting?”

“Useless. Nobody could agree on anything, and it lasted three hours. They want to reschedule for next week.”

“Fuck them. Tell them you want a bonus for wasting enough time already.”

“Hah. At this rate, I don’t even know if I want to work on the project anymore,” says Zach. “If they’re going to jerk me around like this for the next two years, then I have better things to do with my life.”

Chris hums in reply. His fingers still, and Zach turns his face towards him.

“I was thinking maybe we should have a baby,” Chris starts. “I was thinking about how cute those tiny little socks would be. And folding tiny little shirts.”

“Chris, you don’t fold anything. I do. And we have a puppy.” He gestures at Wednesday, who is now a sleeping pile in his lap.

“It was just a thought.” Chris cups Zach’s cheek and rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. “You’d make such a great dad.”

“So would you, but, honey...” Zach shakes his head. “If you seriously want to have this conversation, let’s do it when I’ve had enough—“ he pauses to yawn—“sleep. And my knees are going to star hurting soon, but I don’t want to move her.”

“Why do you think I haven’t gotten up?”

They both look at Skunk, who has rolled into his back and is now snoring softly.

Zach snorts. “And you want a baby.”

“I want a family.”

“We _are_ a family. And I found Noah. He’s sleeping upstairs in our bed.”

“Just like I told you.”

“I love you.” Zach cups Chris’s cheek in return. His eyes flick back and forth as he looks into Chris’s blue gaze.

Chris’s response is muffled against Zach’s lips.

*

Zach closes his eyes for just a minute and suddenly Wednesday is barking and pulling at the lead. His eyes snap open and his fingers clench reflexively on the leash. Noah and Skunk’s leads are in his right hand—he’s smart enough to keep just Wednesday in his left. There’s another dog on the sidewalk across the street, but apparently she thinks he’s in her territory.

“Sorry!” he calls to the other owner and tugs his three in the opposite direction.

He hates walking all the dogs alone (mostly because Wednesday is such a handful), but Chris just hadn’t “felt like” getting out of bed this morning. It’s becoming a trend, and in addition to being annoyed, Zach is getting worried. Usually, Chris gets up with him, they walk the dogs, and then go home and drink coffee.

Today, Chris is still in bed when Zach gets back to the house, feeds the pack, and starts a pot of coffee.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Zach says as he walks back into the bedroom. “You getting sick? It’s 7:30. I thought you’d be up by now.”

Chris, who remains a lump under the blankets, says, “I just don’t feel good.”

“Stomachache? Head cold? Sore throat? Too much pizza? We have Pepto Bismol.” Zach laughs at his own joke. With the way Chris eats, he could practically compete at Coney Island’s hot dog eating competition.

“Just don’t feel like getting up.”

Zach frowns. This isn’t like Chris at all. “Did something happen?” He climbs back onto the bed and wraps an arm around Chris’s body as he spoons up behind him. He’s still warm and cosy, and Zach is tempted to let the coffee go to waste and stay here with Chris.

“No.” Chris heaves a sigh that sounds like it comes from his soul.

“Baby,” says Zach in a softer tone. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

Louder, Chris says, “I just don’t feel like getting up, okay?”

Zach pulls back like he’s been burnt. “Okay.” Flustered, he pulls away and gets to his feet. “I’ll just—uh—coffee’s ready if you want it.”

Wednesday’s already finished eating, and she twists arounds his ankles looking for more. She’s learned to leave Noah alone while he eats, lest he let out another deep “I’m serious” bark. Skunk will sometimes abandon his bowl unfinished, at which time Wednesday will pounce on it.

She jumps up on Zach’s legs to beg for attention. He scratches behind her ears and mumbles nonsense.

He putters around the kitchen, drinking coffee and making breakfast. There’s no sign of Chris, so he puts a plate of bacon and eggs in the microwave and sits alone at the table.

When he goes back upstairs to change into gym clothes, Chris is still in bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You got a headache or something?”

“I’ll get up in a minute,” grumbles the lump on the bed.

“I’m going to the gym.” Zach tries to make it sound like a question so it’s more of a request than a statement.

Chris says nothing.

“Okay, uh...” For a moment, Zach stands awkwardly in their bedroom. “Well, dogs are fed, and I left some breakfast in the microwave.” He leans over the bed, looking for Chris’s face in the blankets. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” the blankets mumble back.

In lieu of a kiss, Zach presses one against something firm that may be Chris’s shoulder.

“One more, Zach, come on.”

Clenching his teeth, Zach bends his knees into the squat again. He’s got 250 on the bar, and while that’s not his max, he’s got a lot on his mind today.

He racks the bar and takes a couple steps forward to shake it off.

“Good job, man.”

He accepts the double high-five from Ricky, but he doesn’t feel accomplished. The disappointment must show on his face because Ricky frowns.

“Everything okay, dude?”

Zach shakes his head. “It’s just Chris. He’s not... I don’t know, he’s not himself today.”

“Everyone has bad days. I’m sure he’ll be back to normal tomorrow.” Ricky gives him a radiant smile. “I never see that one down for long. Especially when he’s with you, right?”

Zach smiles despite the growing pit in his stomach.

“Okay, lets try some deadlifts. I want to see if we get get you up to 300 today.” Ricky gives him a meaningful look. “You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“I doubt that, but you can try.” Zach lowers the bar to the floor and begins adding plates. If he’s being honest, deadlifts are his favorite. It’s just him and the bar, and all he has to do is pick it up. It seems so simple in practice.

Under Ricky’s watchful eye, Zach squares his hips and wraps his hands around the bar. He doesn’t wear gloves because he likes the way the coolness of the metal feels against the skin. Ricky’s told him repeatedly that gloves will help his grip, but Zach insists on going without.

“Remember: weight in your heels.”

Zach knows. He’s only been working out with Ricky for about five years, and he’s been lifting for way longer. Still, he adjusts his weight ever-so-slightly, being sure to tag weight in his heels.

He steadies himself and lifts. For half a second he’s afraid the weight isn’t going to come off the floor, but then he’s straightening his knees, squeezing at the top, and lowering the weight back to the floor. It lands harder than he means for it to, but it’s hard to be precise when you’re lifting twice your own body weight.

“Good. That’s one.” Ricky crosses his arms over his chest. He’s in Serious Trainer mode now.

Nine more to complete the set. Taking a breath, Zach flexes his fingers and wraps them around the bar again.

*

Lining up the edges, Zach folds the towel in quarters and adds it to the stack. For there only being two of them, they sure do go through a lot of towels. Of course, the load includes kitchen towels, towels that go to the gym, and towels they use to wipe off the dogs’ feet when they come in from the rain.

“Zach?”

“In the den!”

Chris appears in the doorway with Wednesday hot on his heels. “Do we have a hot glue gun?”

“A hot glue gun? What the hell for?”

“Something I’m doing. Do we have one?”

Zach shrugs and picks up another towel from the basket. “If we did, it would be in the garage.”

“Okay.” Chris and Wednesday disappear as quickly as they came, but his voice floats back to Chris. “If we don’t, I’m calling Joe!”

“Okay,” Zach says to no one. Why Chris would call his brother is beyond Zach. Why the hell would Joe have a hot glue gun? And what the hell is Chris doing, anyway?

Abandoning his laundry, Zach goes to find out.

Chris and Wednesday are in the garage. Wednesday is chewing a rawhide on the floor, Chris is standing at the workbench they never use with a tube of superglue in his hand. From the looks of it, he’s fused together several of the fingers on his left hand.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Chris drops the tube and it sticks against the top of his foot. “Fuck!”

“Is that... a communicator?”

Chris rips the superglue off his foot, taking with it more than a couple hairs. “Yes.”

“And you’re...”

“I’m fixing it, Zach! What the hell does it look like I’m doing? Baking it into a birthday cake?”

Zach jerks back at the sharp tone. One minute Chris is refusing to get out of bed and the next he’s losing his shit over a plastic prop from a film they did three years ago.

He tries a different tactic. “Honey, what’s going on with you?”

Chris turns to him with wild eyes. “What’s going _on_ is that my career has taken a fucking _nosedive_ ever since _Wonder Woman_ fell through. All I’ve done, Zach, has been shitty TV series and a couple guest appearances!”

“They loved you in ‘Angie Tribeca,’” Zach offers.

“Not enough to give me a recurring role. I’m not contributing to our bills. All I’m doing is sitting at home watching shitty daytime TV and walking the dogs.”

“But the dogs loving having you at home. And we don’t have to hire a sitter.”

“That’s not the point!” Chris explodes. “How would you like to be relegated to ‘Chris Pine’s boyfriend’? Or ‘that guy who played Spock in Star Trek’? Do you know how many times I’ve been confused for Chris Hemsworth? Or Evans? Or Pratt? They don’t even know my _name_!”

“And you think fixing this communicator is going to help.” Zach gestures at the broken prop.

“Are you even listening to me?” He gestures wildly with his superglued hand, and Zach has to keep his lips pressed tightly together to keep himself from laughing. After all, he was the one who had to film with his fingers superglued so he could make the Vulcan salute.

“I’m listening,” he says, mustering all the skills he learned at Carnegie Mellon to keep his face straight.

“I’m fixing this fucking thing... trying to...” Chris picks up the communicator and flicks it across the garage floor like a flat rock across a lake. Wednesday jumps in surprise and scurries into the safety of the house. “Because I need to feel like I’m not fucking useless right now.”

Zach opens his mouth to say he’s not useless—in fact, he’s anything but—when the tears start to fall.

Chris falls against Zach’s shoulder sobbing incoherently and it’s all Zach can do to hold on to him, rub his back, and tell him it’s okay. He had no idea Chris was keeping this so bottled up.

When Chris has calmed down enough to talk, Zach holds his hand tightly as Chris spits out all the thoughts and emotions he’s been fighting to hold back.

“I’m so afraid that I’ll never get another job again. Like _Star Trek_ was my one shot, and now I’m like... fucking Shirley Temple or something. One meteoric hit and then...” He makes a crashing noise.

Zach’s inclination is to remind Chris that he will—and has—find work again, but he knows Chris will shut down anything he says. “I hear you, baby,” he says instead.

“It’s really, really hard, Zach. I don’t know who I am, anymore.”

Pulling Chris into a hug, Zach rubs his back some more and brushes kisses along his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, baby. I’ve got you. We’ll figure it out.”

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me. This is going to a gentle fic, so while there will inevitably be drama, it's not going to be gut-wrenching.

The water running down his back and neck feels so good. Keeping his eyes closed, Zach tilts his head backwards into the spray. He lets out a soft groan.

A gust of cold air makes him open his eyes. Chris is stepping into the shower and grinning.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Get over here.”

Zach reels him in, pulling them both under the spray. Their kisses are made wetter, but it adds to the excitement. Chris’s hands follow the path the water takes down Zach’s bare body, and Zach tosses his head back in pleasure.

Chris seizes on Zach’s neck. Oh, yeah, that’s good.

Except that’s not how it goes at all.

Zach’s eyes open, and he’s still alone in the shower.

He and Chris haven’t had sex in a couple weeks, and his dick doesn’t understand why. It’s standing at half-mast. Zach frowns down at himself. More than anything, he wishes Chris _would_ interrupt his shower, but he’s downstairs locked in his study “working.”

Zach wraps a hand around his cock and gives it a few tugs. Definitely interested. Normally, he wouldn’t feel the need to jerk off, but since his sex life has taken a nose-dive, it’s become his only option.

He makes the wank quick and perfunctory and finishes his shower. The evidence washed down the drain, he turns off the water and grabs a towel.

The door to the study is still closed when Zach gets downstairs, and he rolls his eyes at the drama of Chris’s actions. Earlier that morning, Chris had sprung up from the kitchen chair in which he’d sat himself for nearly an hour, declared he had an idea, and locked himself in there. Part of Zach wants to knock just to know that Chris is okay, but the larger part of him knows that he’s just being nosey. And since Chris has been so... off... lately, Zach decides to keep his big nose out of this one.

Wednesday is lying on the couch being quiet for once, so Zach picks up his computer from the coffee table and heads out onto the patio. It’s a nice day. The French doors are open, allowing the dogs to come and go as they please. Noah is lying in the grass soaking up the sun, and Zach squints a smile in his direction.

He sits down at the glass-topped table and fires up his email.

A couple of newsletters... what looks like chain mail from Joe... bills... an email from his agent... and another that undoubtedly details the interest for rescheduling the meeting that ended so poorly the previous week. Steeling his nerves, Zach clicks on that one.

Blah blah blah... _would like to speak to you again_... blah blah blah... _very interested_...

Zach zones out a little bit until he gets to the part that says, “...contract of up to $2 million.” He has to reread it several times to be sure he isn’t misinterpreting anything. He’ll need to have his agent and his lawyer look it over, anyway, but from what he can tell, they are, indeed, offering him a cool $2 million to headline a movie about the life and death of Edgar Allan Poe.

“Damn,” whispers Zach. He sits back in his chair. Feels like he needs to smoke a cigarette just to let this sink in. Shame he doesn’t smoke. Cigarettes.

Skunk follows him as he heads back inside to find his pipe and a lighter.

He keeps glancing at the email and laughs to himself as he packs the bowl. “Two million dollars,” he says to Skunk like he can’t believe the words himself. He can’t.

He takes a hit. “Two million dollars.”

Letting the smoke blow out of his lungs, Zach shakes his head again. He and Chris each made a million on the first Star Trek, and then Chris doubled it on the sequel. This house alone cost them just over that. Two million for a biopic feels obscene. It feels too good to be true.

Zach sits on the patio smoking and looking out over the Hollywood Hills. There are so many variables involved in this project, but for $2 million, he’s willing to fight the 405 again.

The bowl empty, he sets it on the table next to the lighter.

Life is good. He’s got good smoke, his dogs are happy, and Chris is... well, occupied.

Zach closes his eyes. He starts to imagine what it will be like to play the author of “The Tell-Tale Heart” and “The Raven.” Will he need to put on an accent? Should he sound more east coast? He should have relocated to the chaise, but now he’s comfortable and high and that would require moving.

He doesn’t hear the door to the study open, but he does hear the slap of Chris’s bare feet on the patio and the scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table.

“This is cashed, but I can pack it again if you want.” Zach cracks open his eyes. Chris is staring at him intently. Not curiously, not in confusion, just with intent.

“What? Was I drooling?” Zach looks down at himself.

“I have an idea.”

“Okay.” Zach closes his eyes again. Noah had the right idea. The sun feels so good today. “Tell me.”

“I’m gonna write a memoir.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink into Zach’s weed-addled brain. “Okay,” he says slowly. “‘The Life and Times of One Christopher W. Pine.’ Is your face going to be half-shadowed on the cover?”

“I’m going to write about why I decided to quit acting.”

Zach drags his eyelids open and squints at his boyfriend. He should have grabbed his sunglasses. “You’re quitting? Like... done. Didn’t you just have an audition last week?”

Chris takes a deep breath and rubs his hands over the thighs of his shorts. “I did... and it was... okay, I guess? I haven’t heard back, and I haven’t had a serious gig in a couple months. I just... I don’t think I love it like you do. Like you...” He makes a tsk sound. “Zach, acting is like your other partner. You couldn’t live without it.”

Zach’s full attention is on Chris now. Part of him wonders if he’s just that baked and this conversation isn’t really happening, but he’s never hallucinated from weed. “But you’re so _good_ at it. Acting comes naturally to you in a way it never will for me. It’s like you don’t even have to try.”

“Exactly! And I think that’s part of the reason why I haven’t booked any jobs lately. I’m not just not trying, I’m not trying at all.”

Zach stares at him. “You realize I’m high, right? And that made no fucking sense.”

Chris laughs, and Zach can’t help but notice the adorable wrinkles around his eyes and the lines in his forehead. Ten years down the road, and really loves this man with every fiber of his being.

“Well think about this: What if I just take some time off to write my book? I don’t need to quit _yet_ , and I’ll keep this between you and me and maybe my agent, and if my book takes off—I mean if I can actually sell it—then the decision is sort of out of my hands. Do you know what I mean?”

Zach nods slowly. “So, you’re... temporarily quitting... and if the book about why you quit is a best-seller, then you’re quitting for real?”

“Exactly!”

“So what if nobody wants to buy your book? I mean a publisher.”

“Then I go back to acting.” Chris shrugs like it’s no big deal.

Zach makes a noise of acknowledgement. He wants to be supportive, but it all just sounds like so much of a pipe dream. Sure, celebrities publish books all the time, but who wants to read a book about why Captain Kirk quit acting? Leonard was in the game until he died, and William Shatner still makes public appearances.

“What?”

“What what?”

“You’ve got a look.”

“What look?”

“A look that says this isn’t going to work.”

“I don’t have a look.” Zach scowls.

“Well, I’m doing it. I don’t need your permission.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Noah gets up off the grass and plods back into the house. Zach can hear him lapping from his water bowl.

“If you want to quit, that’s fine. I heard back about that part I was negotiating last week.”

“And?”

“They want to offer me two.”

“_Million_?” Chris’s tone is incredulous. He sounds more offended than surprised, and it makes Zach bristle.

“Yeah. So if you want to quit, quit. We can afford it.”

“Two million dollars for a movie about Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Yeah.” Zach raises his eyebrows like he’s prepared to defend the film he hasn’t even committed to on paper.

“Nothing, I’m just surprised.” Chris schools his features into a carefully blank mask.

“Why? Because of the content or because it’s me?”

“Neither... it’s just... that’s great.” He pastes a smile on his face. “I’m gonna get back to my book.”

He heads inside without another word.

Zach blows out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and reaches for the bowl.

*

Shutting off the light, Zach pulls the covers up over himself. He rolls over and spoons up against Chris’s back. He’s already warm.

Zach makes a noise low in his throat. One of his hands snakes around Chris’s side. He’s caught by the wrist before he can get much farther than Chris’s hip.

“Not tonight, Zach.”

“_Baby_,” Zach groans into his neck. He presses forward, and Chris lets him, but when Zach’s hand closes around Chris’s junk, he finds him as soft as if he were watching Sarah Huckabee Sanders on Fox News.

“I told you I wasn’t in the mood,” says Chris.

Zach releases Chris and rolls away from him so they’re back to back. The silence settles over them like an extra blanket.

“Is this about my movie? Because I haven’t signed the paperwork yet. I can still drop out.”

“No.” Chris sighs. “It’s not about the movie.”

“Is it me? You’re not attracted to me anymore?”

“Zach...” The blankets rustle, and Chris turns on his lamp. Zach closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone with the lights on.

“We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Like a week and a half.”

“Seventeen days.”

“You’re counting?”

“The last time was date night, and that was on the first of the month. It’s really easy to do the math.”

Chris rolls over, and now he’s the one spooning Zach. His apparently soft dick presses into the bare skin of Zach’s ass. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Zach’s shoulder.

It’s hard to stay angry when Chris is so contrite.

Zach covers the hand on his belly and threads their fingers together. “I love you.” He raises their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss against Chris’s palm.

*

Although he likes it when Chris tags along at the gym, Zach much prefers his runs solo. It’s his meditative time. Time to just zone out and let his mind wander. Just the sound of his feet hitting the pavement and his thoughts.

Sometimes, on days like today, Zach leaves his earbuds at home so he can be alone with his thoughts.

He can’t shake the feeling that something bigger is going on with Chris. While Zach intellectually understands how his boyfriend is feeling, he can’t believe that he’s actually going to give up his career to—what? Write books? Okay, so he writes one: a memoir about why he quit acting. And then what? He writes another about how he went back to acting because he got bored? Zach just can’t see the endgame here.

He jogs past their neighbor on the corner who had a recently fight with the HOA over the size of their screened-in lanai over their pool. Zach had merely glanced at the emails about it. Other than keeping out the paparazzi (which was one of the reasons he liked to jog within the safety of his gated community), he didn’t have much use for the HOA. It seemed like their main job was to worry about how many inches tall the grass was next door and then fret when the lawn guy didn’t make sure it was a precise shade of “my grass is better than yours” green. For all the advantages that came with his success and career, Zach was pushed into a gilded cage.

Maybe that was why Chris had decided to quit.

His father had been a working actor. He had enough steady work to put food on the table and send his kids to private school, but Chris’s parents still lived in the modest two-story they’d had ever since Chris and Katie were little. Plus, the Pines doesn’t care much for ostentation.

Zach himself isn’t very ostentatious either, but he likes being able to afford nice things, and he loves their house.

He loves the kidney-shaped pool that they had installed a special fence around to keep the dogs safe. He loves the pig picture window in their bedroom that looks out over the Hollywood Hills. He loves the hardwood staircase they’ve needed to recover with non-slip pads to help Noah.

He loves the state-of-the-art chrome kitchen and the leather loveseat they picked out together. The French doors that lead to the patio and the Moroccan rug in the dining room. The twin palm trees flanking the driveway. The antique clawfoot bathtub Chris insisted on. The mosaic marble leading to the front door.

Zach circles around the far side of Silver Lake. The sunlight spills across the surface like thousands and thousands of diamonds. Part of him wants to stop and admire it, but he also doesn’t want to lose his momentum.

He and Chris had picnicked in front of the lake on numerous occasions. They’d load up the basket with finger sandwiches and champagne and walk hand-in-hand to the edge of the water. They hadn’t done that in quite a while.

Zach feels a sharp stab in his heart at the thought.

He shakes his head as if to clear his mind and speeds up to finish the final straight away that leads to his driveway.

*

The second meeting about the Poe biopic goes much better than the first. The one line item they’re surprisingly all in board with—and Zach can’t complain—is his compensation.

There’s still any number of issues to hash out—final script, a director—but Zach has accepted the title role, and now he’s just waiting on a contract offer.

Currently, he’s got a suitcase open on the bed because he’s flying to New York in the morning for a photo shoot and interview with _Elle_. He’d be packing the suitcase if Skunk wasn’t curled up and fast asleep inside.

Zach looks at Chris, who is sitting up in bed reading a book. He looks positively adorable with his glasses on and his hair wet from the shower.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? We can get Magnolia cupcakes and eat them in Central Park. Or check out the soup dumplings in Chinatown. Or we could ride the Subway and eat as much dollar pizza as we can find.”

Chris lowers his book and raises an eyebrow. “How come all of your suggestions involve food?”

“Because I know how much you love to eat.”

Abandoning his futile effort at packing, Zach climbs onto the bed on his hands and knees and crawls over Chris’s prone body.

“And I know how much you love me.”

He kisses the side of Chris’s neck.

“And I’m going to be all alone for a whole _week_.”

He leans in for a kiss, but Chris ducks his chin. “I’m tired.”

Chris cups Zach’s cheek. His thumb strokes over the rough stubble upon Zach’s skin. Their eyes lock.

“We don’t have anyone to take care of the dogs.”

“We can call Joe.. or your sister.. or the regular service that usually walks them when we’re gone. That’s a non-issue. What else you got, Pine?”

“My book. The plants. Who’s going to water the plants for a week, Zach?”

“The dog walker. Come to New York with me.”

“Honestly?” Chris rakes his free hand through Zach’s hair. “I just don’t want to. I hit a really good place with my book, and...”

With a sigh, Zach collapses on the bed next to them. The movement jostles Skunk, who snorts and indignantly readjusts himself in the suitcase

“Zach, it’s not that—“

“It’s fine,” Zach says on a sigh. He leverages himself off the bed. “I’ve got to finish packing, anyway.”

Silent, Chris watches as he scoops Skunk out of his suitcase and sets him on the bed. Skunk walks up to Zach’s pillow, scratches at it a few times, and plunks himself down.

Zach makes several trips across the room to the dresser and the closet to grab underwear, socks, shirts, a couple jackets, and a few pairs of shoes.

“Don’t forget your earplugs,” Chris says over the top of his book.

“Thanks,” replies Zach sincerely. He usually has a hard time sleeping on planes or in hotel rooms without them, and while he could pop into Duane Reed and find some cheap ones, he prefers a very specific brand he buys on Amazon.

“You’ll be back on Sunday?”

“Yep.” Zach adds his belt to the top of the pile.

“You want anything special for dinner that night?”

Zach raises an eyebrow. He does a majority of the cooking, while Chris does a majority of the shopping and the eating. “Not that I’m complaining, but are you sure you’ll want to cook?”

“Well, I’m going to miss you while you’re gone, and it will give me something to think about until you get back. Other than my book, of course.”

“Of course.” Zach smiles tightly. He flips the lid of his suitcase shut and zips it up. “Can I think about it? I just want to make sure I’m not eating, like, lasagna on Friday, and then that’s what you make on Sunday.”

“That’s fine.”

Zach hefts his suitcase onto the floor. “You need me to bring you anything from the east coast? Some rugelach? I don’t know if it will keep, but I can try.”

“That’s okay.” Chris shakes his head. “Just come back to me safely.”

This time, Zach’s smile reaches his eyes. “I intend to.”

 

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Q, who reminds me that I'm not crazy whilst simultaneously telling me I am. <3

“That’s good, Zachary, now dip your chin down just a fraction of an inch. Good. Just like that.” The camera shutter clicks again. “Now, lift your left shoulder just—yes, good.”

The photographer is one Zach has worked with before. He is a short, spunky American man with a gold hoop in his left ear and a big handlebar mustache. He looks more like a biker than a photographer.

“Great! I think we’ve got that one. I’m gonna change cameras and hand you off to Patty for a costume change.”

Obediently, Zach walks back over to the wardrobe rack they’d brought in. He is eyeing the coffee carafe on the craft table when someone suddenly squeezes him from behind. Startled, Zach spins around, but he breaks out in a grin when he sees it is a friend.

“Miles!” he shrieks, throwing his arms around the other man for a hug. “How did you know I was here?”

“I had a meeting a couple floors down, and I heard someone mention your name, so I had to come up and see you. I had no idea you were in the city. You should have called me!”

“It was sort of rushed,” says Zach. “How are you? How’s everything?”

“I have no complaints. Work is going well, my art is good…”

“Boyfriend?”

Miles ducks his head, and Zach can see a hint of the coy, boyish grin that photographers love. “I am, actually. His name is Antonio, and he’s a baseball player for the Mets.”

“Really?” Zach sounds surprised. “I didn’t know you were into... baseball.”

“Well, he’s a pitcher,” Miles laughs. “I’m kidding. He plays third base, but I met him through friends. We’ve been seeing each other about three months now.”

“Well, good for you.”

“How about you? How’s Chris? How’s California? Is he here with you?” Miles looks around as though Chris might be hiding behind a fixture.

“He’s back in LA with the dogs.”

“Ahh, too bad. Send him my love, okay? I would have liked to see him.”

“I will.” Zach smiles sadly.

“Zach, we’re almost ready for you,” Patty says, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. I gotta...” He motions towards the set.

“No worries.” Miles leans in and kisses both his cheeks like a European. “We’re having a small get-together tonight at my apartment, if you want to come.”

“Will the illustrious Antonio be there?”

“He’s got a series in Atlanta right now. You really don’t follow baseball at all, do you?”

Zach raises an eyebrow. “Have you met me?”

That makes Miles laugh, and he waves as he heads for the door. “Touché, Quinto, we’ll see you at eight.”

*

Even though Zach is tired, he still wants to go to Miles’s party. It’s better than sitting around the hotel room eating room service and watching pay-per-view. He finishes showering and shaving, and dials Chris’s number before he heading out.

The sound of the stereo reaches Zach’s ears before Chris’s voice.

“Hey, honey!” Chris shouts over the music. Seconds later, it dies down.

“What are you doing?” Zach asks, laughing with nervous surprise.

“Ahh, the dogs and I were just rocking out to some Dean Martin.” He sings a couple bars of the song, and Zach’s lower belly clenches with _want_. “I was dealing with some writer’s block earlier today, so I took the boys out for a walk, and came home and put on some music and now I think I’ve got it figured out. I was having trouble explaining the nuances of shooting pick ups. I finally managed to put my _je ne sais quoi_ onto the page.”

“Uh huh,” says Zach, like Chris’s words make any sense.

“How’s New York? You spending the night in or are you going out?”

“I saw Miles at the shoot earlier, and he invited me to a party he’s having tonight. Well, he said it’s a ‘get together,’ but knowing Miles, it will be more like a party. I just figured I’d give you a call first.”

“Sounds like fun. Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.”

The conversation peters out, and Zach grasps for something else to say, but Chris beats him to it.

“Well, I’ll let you get going. I was just about to sit back down, anyway.”

“Okay. Have a good night. I love you.” The last three words are soft, lilting, like Zach is unsure about them or questioning himself.

He hears Chris’s smile through the phone. “I love you, too. Call me tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.”

Zach hangs up the phone feeling both homesick and content. He already misses Chris (and the dogs), but he is also looking forward to a night out in the city that never sleeps.

He orders an Uber, grabs his wallet, and heads downstairs.

The city night is cool, and Zach is grateful he slipped into a jacket. He’s not usually cold, but he can always take the jacket off if he gets hot.

The drive to Miles’s building takes about 15 minutes in city traffic. Zach’s driver is thankfully silent. He also shows no sign of recognizing his passenger, for which Zach is grateful. He worries more about being recognized in New York because it’s so much more compact than the sprawl of Los Angeles. Paparazzi stake out common hotspots. Just that morning Zach had been photographed grabbing a coffee from Starbucks on his way to the photoshoot.

Outside his window the lights became a mesmerizing swirl. When he was 15, his mom and aunt had brought him and Joe on a weekend trip up here. They stayed close to Times Square and took a ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Zach fell in love with the city that weekend, and every time he comes back he feels the familiar swell of excitement in his chest. If he could convince Chris to give up the California sunshine, he’d move here in a heartbeat.

The car pulls up in front of Miles’s building.

“Have a good night, Mr. Quinto.”

So much for not being recognized. At least the driver didn’t hassle him for an autograph or call him Sylar.

Zach steps onto the curb, but as he lifts a foot to take a step, he realizes he has stepped directly in gum.

“Ahh, fuck me!” he mutters. First the pair eaten by Wednesday and now this. He scrapes it off on the curb the best he can, but there is still a glob on his sole. And now he is imagining everything else it will pick up on the way inside.

Trying to keep the gum from sticking to... Zach tries not to think about what, but his mind keeps screaming _used condom! used condom!_ He hobbles awkwardly on the toe of his left foot to keep his shoe clear of additional debris.

He lets himself into the lobby and approaches the desk behind which sits an Indian man. “I’m here to see Miles McMillan.”

The man consults his computer. “Name?”

“Zachary Quinto.” He resists the urge to snort. The Uber driver recognized him, but not Miles’s doorman.

“One moment, Sir.” He picks up the phone and dials a number. After a moment he says, “Mr. McMillan, I have a Zachary Quinto here for you.”

Growing annoyed but the unnecessary “security” measure, Zach shifts on his feet, but when his left foot sticks, he remembers the gum and picks it up with a grimace.

The Indian man hangs up the phone. “The elevator is around the corner to the left, Mr. Quinto.” He slides a key across the counter.

Zach picks up the key, uses it to salute the Indian man, and heads for the elevator.

The doors open directly into Miles’s apartment, which is spacious by New York City standards.

Miles and the others are circled around two brown leather couches, and Miles jumps up when he sees that the newest arrival is Zach.

He gives the other man a hug and a kiss on the jaw. “I’m so glad you made it! Did you find the place okay?”

“Yeah,” Zach says, awkwardly toeing out of his shoes and handing over the elevator key. “I know this is weird, but do you have like... a toothpick or something?” He picks up the offending shoe and turns it over to show Miles. “I stepped in gum.”

“Ew.” Miles scrunches up his nose. “I have a paper towel...”

“Put some ice on it,” says one of the men on the couch. He stands up, and he’s tall—even taller than Zach—and walks over to them. “My daughter got gum in her hair once. I had to Google the answer.”

“Here.” Miles takes the shoe from Zach’s hand and disappears into the galley kitchen.

“So you must be Miles’s...” Zach stumbles, unsure of how to define someone else’s relationship.

“I’m Ted,” the man confirms with a laugh. “Just friends, and definitely not Antonio. And you’re Miles’s actor friend, Zach. He said you’re only in town did a few days?”

“Yeah, then it’s back to LA and my boyfriend, Chris. I tried to get him to come out here with me but he wanted to stay home with the dogs.”

Ted laughed again. “Sometimes you need someone to stay home with the dogs when you’re out in the city.”

“Do you live here?”

“Here here or in the city here?”

“In the city.” Zach has to keep himself from pulling a face. How difficult is that question to understand? He was fairly certain that Miles either lived with Antonio or alone. He wouldn’t be harboring a roommate Zach had never heard of.

“I’m actually from Jersey.” Ted leans towards Zach conspiratorially. “But don’t tell anyone. My people get a bad rap in the city.”

“I get it. I’m from Pittsburgh, and my people also have a stereotype.”

“Not a Steelers fan?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Zach, that’s Tabby and Olivia on the couch!” Miles calls from the kitchen.

“Hey.” Zach holds up a hand. He can tell just by looking at them that they are models, too. That and the fact that Miles tends to roam with models. But Ted… he is hard to place.

“Come on, come on.” Miles emerges from the kitchen, thrusts Zach’s shoe at him, and sweeps the men towards the ladies. “I made a punch.” He lifts the decorative glass pitcher, in which Zach can see sliced oranges and strawberries floating above the ice, and pours a glass.

As Miles holds the drink out to him, Zach eyes it dubiously. “Am I going to wake up in a bathtub full of ice after drinking this?”

Miles rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Quito, it’s sex on the beach, not jungle juice.”

Zach takes a sip. It’s refreshingly cold and definitely not jungle juice.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Miles says dramatically, “Now that Zach’s here we can break out the cards.”

Zach perks up. His competitive side loves party games. At least until he sees the words “Bigger, Blacker Box,” printed on Miles’s Cards Against Humanity set. Not the kind of cards he was thinking about, but he’s game.

By the end of the night, Zach is slightly drunk, and his abs hurt from laughing so much. He’s learned that he is not, in fact, the dirtiest-minded person in the room, and he he’s not sure whether to be amused or frightened. He’s also learned that Ted is a DJ Miles met at a club.

The girls leave first, and Ted and Zach follow about ten minutes later. Miles sends them on their way with hugs and kisses and promises to stop by the next time they’re in town.

Back downstairs, the silence of the night feels like it’s roaring in Zach’s ears compared to the sound of voices and laughter he’d been inundated with all night.

“So where are you staying?” Ted asks.

“53rd and 6th,” replies Zach. “You?”

“52nd and 7th. You wanna share a cab?”

Under normal circumstances, he might have said no, but he is tired and intoxicated and Ted has been fun to hang out with. His mind is much, much dirtier than Zach’s, but he’s interesting to say the least.

“Sure.”

Ted keeps talking on the way downtown. Zach keeps his head pressed against the window of the cab. He is ready for bed, and he has one more day in the city before he flies back to California. He throws in a few “uh huh”s and “yeah”s to be polite, but all he wants to do is pass out. Maybe text Chris, though he doubts his boyfriend will still be awake.

At their stop, Zach pays the driver (not like he can’t afford it) and follows Ted out of the cab.

He starts to say the usual, “It was nice meeting you, have a great night,” when Ted lunges forward and kisses him. Suddenly, Zach is wide awake and sober.

Pushing Ted away, he says, “Dude, what the fuck? I have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, in a different zip code,” Ted scoffs. He reaches for him again, but Zach steps backward out of his reach. “He’ll never know. Come on, come back to my room with me. It’s a block away.”

“Are you deaf? I said _no_!” He raises his voice enough to attract the attention of a couple passersby.

Ted gives him a long once-over. “Whatever. Your loss.” He turns around and headed down the sidewalk.

Zach unclenches his fists and takes a deep breath. His body has been readying for a fight. So much for going to sleep as soon as he gets back to his room. It also makes him wonder if Miles slept with this creep, but he doesn’t want to ponder his friend’s integrity or the parameters of his sex life.

He walks into the hotel, past the front desk, and presses the button for the elevator. Inside, he stares at his reflection in the mirrored walls. His hair is tousled from running his fingers through it all night, and his eyes are dry and red. He looks like the city has gotten the best of him. And maybe it has.

Back in his hotel room, he drops his keycard and cellphone on the desk and collapses backwards onto the bed.

He doesn’t have any weed because it is too dangerous to travel with it, and anyone he knows in the city who can get him some are too far away to make the call worth it tonight.

That and he left his phone across the room. Dammit.

With a groan, he pulls himself up, retrieves his phone, drops back down onto the bed.

_hey. are you still awake?_

As Zach watches, the three dots that tell him Chris is typing appear on the screen, and he perks up.

_About to go to sleep, but yeah. You just get in?_

Zach stares at the phone for a moment.

_yea. you in bed?_

Chris sends him a picture of himself in bed with Noah spread out across his feet and Skunk nestled against his chest.

_where’s winnie?_

_On the floor. She was up here for about five minutes and then got down. You know how she is. She’ll probably want out soon_ _I miss you_

Zach sighs out his breath.

_i miss you too._

_Do you think you could get a flight out tomorrow instead of waiting until Sunday?_

_i can try but i have a meeting._ Zach squeezes his eyes shut. He feels so guilty about what happened with Ted, even though he didn’t even _do_ anything. _one of miles’ friends hit on me tonight. he kissed me. chris, I pushed him away I swear._

It feels like an eternity before he sees the three dots pop up again.

_Okay. I mean, you didn’t sleep with him, did you?_

_FUCK NO!!!_ he adds a couple of the grimacing emojis for emphasis.

_Okay. I trust you. I mean you’re hot, so I should expect random guys at parties to hit on you_

Zach isn’t sure if the reply is sarcastic or sincere, but the next message confirms it.

_Honey. I trust you. Just come home to us in one piece, okay? I love you_

_i love you too._

*

Zach’s eyes snap open as the plane touches down. He hadn’t anticipated that they would land so soon, and the feeling of the wheels hitting the runway jars him to attention. Out the window, he can see the familiar LAX terminal.

As soon as the seatbelt sign is off, Zach retrieves his bag from above his seat. His phone hasn’t left his hand, and he waits anxiously as it reconnects to the network.

No text from Chris beyond the last “have a good flight” message. Disappointed, Zach texts “landed.” and slides his phone into his back pocket.

They’d agreed that Zach would take an Uber home, since it was nearly an hour drive one way in good traffic, so it wasn’t like he was anticipating an “I’m here” message, but.

He’s the second person off the plane, and his long legs carry him quickly through the terminal. He’s only just past security when someone grabs his arm. Reflexively, he opens his mouth to scream.

“Don’t yell. You’ll draw attention to us. Come on.”

Not wanting to make a scene, Zach ducks his head and follows Chris out to the parking lot. They’re both in ball caps, Chris in sunglasses, the best they can do to disguise themselves from the photographers that hang out at the airport like buzzards scanning for carrion.

Remaining calm and casual, Zach throws his bag in the trunk and climbs into the passenger seat of his Prius. Only then does he give Chris a proper greeting: a big wet kiss over the center console.

The dogs are in the backseat, and Skunk worms his way between the bigger two, crawling into his dad’s lap and demanding attention.

“Yes, Skunk, I missed you, too,” Zach says, scratching him with one hand and reaching into the backseat to satisfy Noah and Wednesday in alternating passes. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he says to Chris, who is watching the proceedings with amused eyes.

“I figured I’d surprise you. The dogs missed you, I missed you. Hell, half of California missed you, I’m sure.”

“I missed _you_.” He leans across the center console to kiss Chris again. This time, Skunk licks at their faces, and Zach accidentally gets slipped a little dog tongue. “Eugh! Okay, that’s enough!” He shoes Skunk back into the backseat and puts the armrest up to block him from visiting again.

Chris maneuvers them out of the parking garage and onto the highway. His right hand settles atop Zach’s thigh, and Zach places his left atop so that Chris’s fingers are splayed between his own. The weight is warm and comforting.

“How was New York?” Chris asks, glancing over at him.

“Other than the whole ‘getting molested by Miles’s friend’ thing? Good. Ah, the meeting went well yesterday, and it was quick. And the photoshoot was good. I didn’t tell you about that. They put me in this red jacket with the collar popped.” He gives Chris a smoldering look that mimics the one he made at the shoot.

Chris just smiles. “That sounds like an eventful week.”

“How about you?” Zach asks. “What did you do all week without me?”

“I made a lot of headway on my book. I actually dove in to talking about our relationship. Not necessarily anything too in depth, but how we got together and how I felt about you. Stuff like that. I figure I’ll take most of it out, but I wanted to get it down on paper.” He glances at Zach again. “I hope that’s okay.”

Zach feels something tighten in his chest. “I mean, I guess that’s okay. You’re not going to, like, tell them about our sex life are you?”

“No!” Chris exclaims. “No, no way. That’s just for us.” He rubs his thumb over the fabric of Zach’s jeans. “I’m talking about feelings…”

“Feelings,” Zach repeats.

“Feelings. The way my heart swells when I look at you. The way my fingers itch to thread with yours.” He flexes his fingers for emphasis. “The way I sleep like shit when you’re gone.”

“No you do not. You sleep like a rock whether I’m here or not.”

“Not when I have three dogs hogging my pillow.”

“Better than one boyfriend hogging all the _blankets_.”

“Yes, but you’ve got me to keep you warm. That’s sort of the idea.”

Zach huffs a laugh. “Whatever you say, Pine.”

He’s just glad to be back home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Q, who irritates me to no end, but I love him for it.

Atop the bed lies a pizza box containing a couple slices of sausage and pepperoni. Skunk is licking his lips and inching ever closer when he thinks he can get away with it and Noah lies uninterested across the foot of the bed. He knows he’ll get a bite when it’s time. Wednesday, who has not yet learned these lessons, has been banished to the floor. She isn’t _quite_ big enough to subvert the punishment; they tried leaving her on the bed, but she went straight for the pizza and refused to leave it alone.

Zach and Chris are happy, well fed, nude, tangled up in the sheets together as they watch _Harold and Maude_.

Chris reaches for the pizza box, and Zach raises an eyebrow.

“You sure about that decision? You’re getting a little soft about the middle.” He pats Chris’s belly affectionately. He has gotten soft since he quit putting in gruelling hours at the gym and no longer restrains himself from the occasional slice (or half a pie).

Squawking, Chris inches away, closer to the pizza. “I thought you said you like me round? What was the word you used? ‘Thicc’? with two c’s?”

With Chris sitting on it, Zach can’t smack his ass. “That means I like your _ass_.”

Chris grins around the pizza in his mouth. “Of course you do. This is pure—“ He starts to roll over on his side, loses his balance, and their peaceful evening becomes chaos.

Skunk lunges for the pizza Chris drops, Noah lunges for Skunk. Skunk yelps in pain as Noah nips at him. Zach yells at Chris and the dogs alternatively. There’s pizza sauce smeared across the sheets and bare Chris’s body. Wednesday jumps against the side of the bed barking her head off.

Zach finally gets his fingers under Noah’s collar to separate him from Skunk. The pizza’s gone but for the sauce stains that remain. Chris is standing on the floor holding Skunk and trying to get Wednesday to sit down and stop barking, but now she’s barking at Skunk.

All the while, _Harold and Maude_ continues to play, unwatched, in the background, never mind that they’ve seen it countless times before.

“Wednesday!” Chris and Zach shout simultaneously, and she’s shocked into silence.

Zach surveys the mess that is their bed and his boyfriend. “You’re pure grace, Christopher, I swear.”

“I was _trying_ to say that my ass is pure American protein.”

“Well, why don’t you take your American protein and the dogs and go shower while I change the sheets?”

“You want me to throw this away, too?” Chris picks up the now-empty pizza box.

Zach sighs. “Yes. And if Noah has diarrhoea tonight, you’re cleaning it up.”

“Yes, Sir!” Chris says, awkwardly saluting with the pizza box.

Zach shakes his head as Chris and the dogs parade out of the bedroom.

“Noah!” Chris calls back. “You coming, dude?”

Noah is still sitting on the bed looking like he’s waiting for more pizza. His ears perk up when he hears his name.

“Come on, old man,” says Zach. “You wanna go outside?”

Because of Noah’s difficulty handling stairs (Zach refuses to think of it as arthritis), they’d bought him a doggy ramp to get on and off the bed. At Zach’s urging, he climbs down and follows Chris out the door.

Heaving a sigh, Zach begins to strip the sheets off the bed. So much for a romantic movie night.

He feels silly changing the sheets naked, especially considering they hadn’t even gotten to the sex part, so he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He tosses the soiled sheets over the bannister and grabs a new set out of the linen closet in the hall.

They had been so close...

It had even been Chris’s suggestion that they order pizza and put in a movie. Zach had been the one to shuck his shorts, citing comfort. They hadn’t seen one another naked in almost a month—had it really been that long?

Once the bed is made, Zach wanders back downstairs and lets the dogs in. He can hear the shower running, and his lips curl as an idea unfurls in his mind.

Zach sheds his sweatpants in the kitchen. Nude again, he walks on soft soles down the hall. But as he reaches for the door handle, the water cuts off. Dammit.

Rather than look like a creeper hanging out next to the bathroom as his boyfriend showers, Zach returns to the kitchen. He refills the dogs’ water dishes, empties the dishwasher, and wipes off the counters. Eventually, the bathroom door opens and Chris steps out wearing only a towel.

Zach wolf-whistles from the kitchen. “Hey, good lookin’. Did you get the pizza sauce out of your hair?”

Chris shakes his head like Noah after a bath, sending water droplets across the stone floor. “I think so. You wanna finish the movie, or is this you cleaning up before bed?”

Unbidden, a yawn finds its way out of Zach’s mouth. “Don’t let me fool you; I’m still awake.” He walks towards Chris and sets two fingers over the knot holding the towel against his hips. “Unless you’d be interested in a little Netflix and chill?”

“I could be convinced.”

“Oh?” _Oh_. Zach’s breath quickens. Chris smells like vanilla and _want_.

With his fingertip, Zach follows a drop of water up the curve of Chris’s shoulder. He drags it across the line of Chris’s collarbone watching with hunger as it glistens under the light. Lowering his head, Zach captures the water on his tongue.

Chris tips his head back. The tendons in his neck stand out, and he gives a soft moan.

Zach flicks his tongue. He draws a wet line from Chris’s collarbone, up his throat, over his Adam’s apple, and along the line of his jaw. Meanwhile, Zach twists his free hand over the knot holding Chris’s towel around his hips. It falls to the floor in a damp heap.

Zach takes a step forward, pressing himself flush against Chris’s nude, damp body. His cock is already filling, and it tents the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Their mouths find one another, and Chris’s breath comes out in a harsh pant through his nose like a stallion scenting a mare.

Through his sweatpants Zach can feel Chris getting hard. The hand on Chris’s shoulder winds around his neck and teases the short damp hairs there. The one at his hip slides around his body. Zach clutches at the firm flesh of Chris’s ass as they kiss.

Chris’s hands slide under the waistband of Zach’s sweatpants leaving his thumbs hooked over the edge. He pushes the pants down, bending at the knees. Zach follows him down. He moves both hands to Chris’s cheeks to keep kissing him as he steps first one foot and then the other out of his only article of clothing.

Still locked at the lips, they stand up straight. Zach walks Chris backwards until he hits the wall. Chris’s shoulder nudges a picture, and it clatters in warning. Giggling, Chris pulls his mouth away. Zach reaches out a hand to steady the picture.

“Should we take this upstairs?” asks Chris.

“Uh uh,” Zach replies, kissing the tender spot beneath Chris’s ear. “I can’t wait that long. We have lube in this bathroom, don’t we?” It has been so long since they’ve fucked down here that Zach can’t remember if they do or not. He’s hoping yes because he doesn’t want to slow down to find the bottle he knows is in the nightstand drawer upstairs. He’s afraid if they stop they won’t finish. He’s afraid Chris will lose interest.

“I’ll look,” says Chris.

“Okay.” Taking him by the hand, Zach tugs Chris back into the bathroom. He points Chris’s hips towards the door and drops to his knees to take Chris in his mouth. When Chris just stands there, Zach takes his mouth away to say, “Don’t just stand there. Find the lube.”

Chris groans. He buries one hand in Zach’s dark hair and uses the other to search the cabinet. Zach hears a couple plastic bottles clatter to the floor, then, “Found it.”

Zach’s mouth pops off Chris’s dick once again. “Perfect.” He gets to his feet and clicks open the cap on the lube. “Turn around.”

“You want to do it _here_?”

“It’s not like we’ve never done it in the bathroom before.” Zach runs his stubbles chin against Chris’s shoulder. “Close your eyes, it will be kinky.” He presses his mouth to Chris’s again.

Chris’s eyes flutter shut. The wet head of his dick smears across Zach’s hip. Zach fills his own palm with lube and wraps it around Chris’s dick. Chris moans into the kiss. Zach keeps it up until Chris breaks away panting.

“Okay, you’re right. This is hot as fuck.” He turns away to brace his hands against the bathroom wall. His ass is slightly paler than the rest of him, and the sight makes Zach’s balls contract.

Biting down on his bottom lip, he braces one hand against Chris’s shoulder for balance and uses the lubed-up one to seek out his asshole. His middle finger slides home and Chris lets out a low groan. Zach pumps in a few times, adds another. He’s impatient, and Chris is moaning like a two-dollar whore.

“You need three?” Zach asks, notes down on the meat of Chris’s shoulder.

Chris readjusts his grip on the wall. Licks his lips. “Yeah.” Blows out a breath.

Obliging, Zach squeezes a third finger in behind the first two. Chris is impossibly hot and tight. His hole clenches, and Zach has to tug on his own balls to keep himself steady. He thrusts in and out, twists his palm to face downward in an effort to get closer to Chris’s prostate. He knows he’s got it at least a couple times when Chris spreads his legs wider and humps against Zach’s hand.

Slowly to keep from hurting Chris, Zach pulls his hand out of his boyfriend’s body. Chris’s hole gapes just a bit. Zach aches to drive himself inside, so he does. He gives his cock a few cursory strokes to lube it up and presses forward. Chris stutters a few “ah ah” noises as Zach seats himself balls-deep.

Zach covers Chris’s hands with his own, blanketing the other man with his body. He uses the wall for his own leverage and to keep Chris pinned in place.

“You like that, baby? Huh?” Zach bites and sucks at Chris’s earlobe. “You like the way I fuck you? Tell me how much you like it when I deep-dick you.”

“Yes! Zach!” Chris responds, “I love the way you fuck me!” He lifts himself onto his toes in an effort to press his ass into Zach’s hips. It’s difficult with Zach standing behind him because he’s a couple inches taller than Chris.

Taking pity on him, Zach releases his hands from the wall, takes Chris by the hips, and shuffles him a couple steps back. Chris has to bend over farther to reach the wall now, but at least Zach can thrust harder into him. He smacks their bodies together hard enough that he’s sure Chris will have bruises on his hips from Zach’s hipbones in the morning.

Chris reaches down and wraps a hand around his own dick.

“That’s it, baby,” Zach coaxes. “You gonna cum for me?”

Chris goes silent but for his harsh panting breaths. Zach tries to keep his rhythm as steady as possible. All he wants right now is to make Chris cum.

Sweat drips down the bridge of Zach’s nose and falls onto Chris’s bare back. They’re both sweating, panting. Zach’s focus has narrowed to the slick, wet heat of Chris’s ass around his cock. He clenches tighter, and Zach knows he’s close.

“Oh, fuck, Zach, I’m gonna cum, oh fuck, oh fuck, Zach, gonna, I’m gonna!”

Zach tightens his grip on Chris’s hips. The last thing he wants is to slip out just as his orgasm crests.

Out of Chris’s mouth comes a guttural moan that makes Zach’s balls clench. Between his legs, Chris’s hand is a blur. He cums in spurts across the wall, the floor, and even manages to splash a few drops across Zach’s toes, but Zach couldn’t care less.

As soon as Chris slumps in relief, Zach sets his teeth against the meat of Chris’s shoulder and seeks out his own release.

It takes hardly a minute before Zach is coming deep inside his boyfriend’s body. He’d been holding back for Chris’s sake.

They stand there back to front enjoying the afterglow and catching their breath.

Suddenly, Wednesday comes careening into the bathroom, Skunk hot on her heels. She’s got one of his toys in her mouth, and he wants it. Zach tries to slide himself carefully out of Chris and shoo the dogs out of the bathroom, and he winds up on his ass on the bathroom rug for his trouble. Instead of helping, Chris stands there and laughs.

“Don’t help, just make it worse,” Zach grouses as he pushes himself to his feet.

Chris takes his hand to help him the rest of the way. “It was funny. You’d be laughing if the situation was reversed. Besides, I’ve got cum sliding out of my ass, and that’s _your_ fault.”

Zach raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago.”

Chris pulls him in for another kiss, and Zach melts against his body. When the pull away Zach says, “I was starting to worry you were pulling away from me... sexually.”

The arms around Zach’s body tighten. Chris’s blue eyes find his. “Honey, no. Not at all.” He kisses Zach again, fiercely. “I love you.”

Noah barks from the kitchen to tell his masters he wants out.

“I’m coming, Noah, hang on!” Zach shouts in reply, like the dog has any idea what he’s saying.

“Go let him out. I’m gonna hop back in the shower and rinse off.” Chris pecks a kiss on Zach’s lips and does just that.

Still feeling light and satisfied, Zach follows the sound of his dog’s impatient barking to the back door. At the sound of the lock sliding open, Skunk and Wednesday reappear. Skunk has the toy in his mouth. It appears he won the battle with his sister.

Zach shoos the dogs into the backyard and shuts the door behind them. He can hear the shower running again, and he itches to join Chris. Before he can make up his mind, Noah is back in front of the door, wagging his tail to be let back in.

The shower cuts off and the opportunity is lost. Story of Zach’s life.

*

Zach and Chris fall back into their comfortable, usual routine. Zach does the grocery shopping; Chris does the cooking. They argue over what to watch on TV and spend Monday afternoons at the dog park with Noah, Skunk, and Wednesday. Wednesday gets bigger and Noah gets older.

Chris continues to write, and Zach reads scripts and goes to auditions.

Every single time he goes in to talk to a director or a producer, he gets nervous. It doesn’t matter if it’s Stephen Spielberg or a young upstart at the helm for the first time. Zach feels the same familiar butterflies in his stomach as he did the first time he took the stage when he was 9. And as always, the feeling dissipates as soon as he settles into the headspace of his character and just _lets go_. It isn’t “acting” for Zach. It’s like putting on someone else’s skin and inhabiting them for a time.

This character is no different.

The role is slated to be a short character arc on an established drama—two, three episodes at most, and Zach will be billed with “guest starting” credits. Not bad for the six weeks or so it will take to film.

For this audition, Zach is playing a man with whom the lead actress will have an explosive, short-lived and borderline violent relationship. The directors want to see if she and Zach have any chemistry.

It’s not the actress or even that they’re being asked to kiss during the audition—Zach has kissed a number of women on film, and it’s not that it’s _bad_ , it just doesn’t make him feel anything at all—it’s that this is his first time in front of _these_ directors with _this_ actress, and the butterflies are back.

He mentally runs through the details of his character, those given to him by his agent and the blanks he filled in himself.

Tony is a loner. He rolled into town the same way he’ll leave: quietly. He’s dark, mysterious, and sexy, which is why the main character is drawn to him. She’s good at making bad decisions, and he’s one of the worst decisions of her life.

“_Action._”

“You can’t just come in here and act like—“

“What? Huh? Act like what?” Zach—Tony—cuts her off. He steps up into her personal space and tries to pretend he can’t smell her floral perfume. “Act like I know what I want?” He gives her a deadly smile like the one he used to play Sylar all those years ago. His hand flies out, and he’s pretty sure she’s taken off-guard when he grabs a fist-full of her hair. His grip isn’t tight. He knows he hasn’t hurt her, but real or fake, it’s enough to coax a gasp from her lips. “You want me?” he whispers into her mouth.

She gives a barely imperceptible nod.

Tony seals their lips together in a heated kiss.

“Cut!”

Zach immediately releases his grip on the woman’s hair and takes a step back. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You did catch me off guard, though.”

Zach’s smile this time is genuine. He’s good at his job and he knows it.

*

On the way home from the audition, Zach is itching to call Chris. The director hadn’t outright offered him the job, but Zach will be pretty damn surprised if he gets turned down. He just wants to share the good vibes.

He’s about two miles from home on Sunset Boulevard, just about to turn onto Silver Lake when out of nowhere a black Maserati blows the red light and slams into the driver’s side of Zach’s Prius.

For a few seconds he can’t even comprehend what’s just happened.

The driver’s side window has shattered. There is glass everywhere. All over Zach, all over the dash, all over the seat.

He realises he’s still gripping the steering wheel and forces himself to let go.

He’s just been in a car accident.

He hasn’t been in a car accident since he was 16 and totalled his mom’s car. It’s such an odd thought, but it’s the only rational piece his mind can latch onto right now.

Someone appears at his broken window. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I think so,” Zach says slowly. _I’m in shock_ , his brain replies. He presses the latch to unhook his seatbelt—thank god he was wearing it—and opens his door. More glass falls to the ground as he stands up. He looks at his hands and is surprised to see that there isn’t a scratch on him. Nothing seems to hurt, but that, too, could be the shock.

The front corner of his car has been mangled by the Maserati. His headlight is in fragments, the wheel well is crushed into the now-deflated front tire, and the hood is crumpled like a piece of aluminium foil. Zach wants to cry and scream at the same time. His car. He’s only two minutes from home. Frantically, his brain begins to rewind the events. He’d been turning right onto Silver Lake. If only he’d left two minutes earlier or two minutes later he might have avoided this crash altogether.

“I need to call the police,” he mumbles aloud to no one. But by the time he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and begins a Google search for the non-emergency line to the LAPD, there’s already a police cruiser arriving on the scene. Zach has no idea if the other driver is okay, but considering he can barely take care of himself right now, he allows that to remain someone else’s job.

He continues to stand in a daze until a cop approaches him. “Sir, are you injured?”

Weakly, Zach shakes his head. “I need to call my boyfriend.”

“Okay, I can’t let you go anywhere until I get your statement.”

Zach shrugs. “That’s fine.”

The other driver, he now realizes, is the woman who had come to his window just after the crash. She’s tall, light skinned, dark headed, and formidable looking. Zach feels the indignant anger welling up inside him.

The cops are blocking off the road, rerouting traffic, and an ambulance rolls to a stop next to them for reasons unbeknownst to Zach.

He walks around to the other side of his ruined car, away from the debris and broken glass and lowers himself to the curb. He stretches his long legs out in front of him and calls Chris.

“Hey, handsome! I thought you’d be home by now.” Chris’s voice is sunny, and happy, and it makes Zach want to cry.

“I was in an accident,” he says, unable to keep the vitriol from creeping into his voice. “I’m fine,” he adds hastily, “physically.”

“What happened?” Chris shrieks into the phone. “Where are you? Is your car totaled?”

“Probably, corner of Sunset and Silver Lake, and some bitch ran a red light and t-boned me as I was turning right. Shattered the driver’s side window. I’m actually surprised you didn’t hear the police sirens.”

“Okay, stay put. I’m gonna put the dogs in the house, and I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up before Zach has a chance to respond, and Zach is left sitting on Sunset Boulevard like an idiot.

There’s about three cops on the scene now—two directing traffic around the vehicles and one who seems to be taking a statement from the other driver.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for my boyfriend,” he hears from the other side of the car. “Zach? Zach!”

Zach stands up. Chris is arguing with one of the police officers about whether or not he should be there.

“I’m right here,” says Zach. He makes his way over to Chris and the cop.

Chris crushes him in a hug. “You’re okay? You sure? We can have someone check you out.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re the driver of the Prius?” The cop gives him a look like he’s about to doubt every word out of his mouth.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Okay, I’ve gotten a statement from the other driver. Could you tell me your version of the events? Were you the only person in the vehicle?”

“Yeah. I was alone.” He looks at Chris. “Where did you park?”

“Over there.” Chris gestures vaguely at a block of stores across Silver Lake Boulevard.

“So you were driving alone. Which direction were you coming from?” continues the cop.

“I was making a right onto Silver Lake from Sunset Boulevard.”

“And when you turned what color was the light?”

“I had a green arrow.”

“Did you use your turn signal?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see the other vehicle approaching the intersection?”

“Not until she hit me.”

“And where were you coming from and going to?”

“I was downtown and headed home. I live a couple of minutes from here. In Silver Lake.” He says the name of the neighborhood like it’s offended him somehow.

“What were you doing downtown?”

Zach raises his eyebrows. “I don’t see what it matters, but I was at an audition.”

“You’re an actor?”

Taking the cop’s ignorance for a blessing in disguise, Zach gives him a self-deprecating smile. “Like most of the people in this town, yeah.”

“Okay, I just need your license, registration, proof of insurance. I’ll finish the paperwork and you’ll be free to go. You can go ahead and call a tow truck.”

 _How magnanimous of you,_ Zach thinks to himself.

He hands the cop his license and walks around the car to dig his registration and insurance card out of the glovebox.

The cop walks away and Chris and Zach are left alone.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Stop asking me that. I’m fine.”

“Sometimes car accident injuries don’t show up until later.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Chris fell silent, and Zach instantly regrets his harsh tone.

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m just ready to go home.” He slips his hand into Chris’s and gives it a squeeze.

Standing there on Sunset Boulevard with angry motorists passing them after being delayed and rerouted as the sun begins to sink below the mountains, Zach feels an odd sense of calm wash over him. No matter what happens, he always has Chris. This man would walk barefoot over broken glass for him, and Zach’s heart swells with gratitude. It must show on his face because Chris says,

“What?”

And Zach replies, “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

The tow truck pulls up, then, and Zach realised he hasn’t even called one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For, Q, who is a bigger Chris Pine fan than I am.

“I don’t know why you have to get another Prius. Zach, you could literally have _any_ car you want. Babe, you could get a _Ferrari_.” Chris pauses in thought. “Come to think of it, maybe I should get a Ferrari. A white one with black racing stripes…” He trails off like the idea has never occurred to him.

“Chris, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you. _I like my car_.”

They’re at the Toyota dealership to get Zach a new car. The salesman is inside trading Zach’s license for a key to test drive a Prius that’s almost identical to the one that was wrecked except it’s two years newer.

“Okay, but you haven’t even _tried_ anything else. Have you ever even driven a different car? You could even look at, like, a Lexus. They have hybrids, too.”

“The car I totaled when I was a kid was a Camry. I like Toyotas.”

The salesmen comes back out of the building and hands Zach the key. Zach gives Chris a smug look and says, “I like my Prius.”

Chris mimics him, but opens the rear door.

On the test drive, the salesman rattles off all the new tech features that Zach could care less about. He knows the basics since he’s been driving one of these for almost a decade. This will be his third Prius, but he doesn’t bother telling the salesman that. It’s unlikely the guy will listen, anyway.

“What do you think, Honey?” Zach interrupts loudly. He glances in the rear view mirror at Chris.

Chris unfolds his arms and shrugs. “Like I said, it’s up to you. We could still get a Ferrari.”

The salesman must be worried he’s going to lose the sale so he’s quick to add, “The Prius may only be a four-cylinder, but the gas mileage you get more than makes up for it. The average is fifty miles per gallon. You’re going to burn that in a matter of days in a Ferrari.”

Zach makes a noise of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t care. He’ll get his Prius and Chris can have a goddamn Ferrari if he wants one. If it gets him to shut up, Zach will have it painted any color he wants. Racing stripes, polka dots, a goddamn Starfleet insignia if that’s what it takes.

They pull back into the dealership and Zach stops the car.

The three of them get out, and the salesman clears his throat to begin closing the deal.

“I’ll take it,” Zach says before he has to listen to some more nonsense about the benefits of owning an eco-friendly car. Had the salesman bothered to ask, he would already know that this isn’t Zach’s first rodeo.

Three days after Zach buys it, his new Prius leaves him stranded on the side of a mildly busy road in Glendale one night. Not only is he pissed that he’s already got a flat tire, but his fancy new car is without even a donut.

He calls AAA, who promises to send someone out “within 30 minutes,” and tries to get used to the sound of his hazard lights blinking as cars go whizzing by him.

He’s been sitting for about 10 minutes when a police car unexpectedly pulls up behind him and flips on its lights. Now he has to contend with not only his hazards but their unwarranted lights.

Sure enough, the cop gets out of his car and heads towards Zach.

Reminding himself that he hasn’t done anything wrong, Zach rolls down his window and keeps both of his hands at 10 and two on the steering wheel. Where the cop can see them.

“Good evening, Sir. Are you having some car trouble?”

“Flat tire,” Zach replies, forcing himself to be as formal and respectful as possible. “I’m just waiting for AAA. They said they’d be here in about 30 minutes, so it should only be another 10.” He’s exaggerating, and he knows it, but he just wants the cop to leave—and for his tow truck to show up.

“Could I see your license and registration, please?”

What the fuck for?

Zach reaches for his wallet. He hopes the cop can’t tell his hand is shaking as he passes over the California driver’s license. His car registration (thank God he has it) is the only thing in the glove box. He ponders the insurance card that is wedged in his wallet before deciding to leave it behind. No sense in giving the cop more information than he asked for.

The cop gives him a long, appraising stare that makes Zach’s skin crawl.

“I’m not going to find anything when I run this, am I? Because you seem like a real nice guy, and I’d hate to have to arrest you.”

Arrest me?

_Arrest_ me?

For actually fucking what?

So much for white privilege, never mind that the cops are white. Two of them.

Zach’s mind races. Find anything? Find what? He doesn’t have anything so much as a speeding or parking ticket.

Find what?

Is he a criminal now because he was t-boned and then got a flat tire?

He can’t keep pace with his thoughts.

The cop’s statement is like a riddle and a threat.

There’s a Thing you did that you forgot about. And we are going to Find it.

Zach bites his tongue before he can say something like “I didn’t know having a flat tire was a crime.”

He feels like a character in _Super Troopers_. He didn’t call the police, and they didn’t pull him over. They saw him pulled over and stopped. He half expects them to get on the megaphone and demand that he pull over so he can shout back, confused, “I’m already pulled over! I can’t pull over any farther!”

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 20 years since my last confession.

If you don’t tell us, the threat hangs in the air, we’re going to find it. And when we do, you’re fucked.

His overwrought mind clicks through minor transgressions throughout the week. Did he forget to make his car payment? Run a stop sign? Leave the garbage by the front door? Cut off an old lady in traffic?

Anxiety clenches his chest. Arrest him for _what_ , exactly?

More importantly, should he call his attorney?

He half expects them to breathalyze him. How long has it been since he smoked? A breathalyzer doesn’t pick up weed, anyway, even if you’re high. He doesn’t have any weed in the car, does he? No, he never keeps any of that shit in the car. Ever. What if they search the car? His house?

Why the fuck would they search his house?

What about that totally normal tire iron in the trunk? Is that illegal? That’s not illegal—it’s literally for situations like this. When he actually has a spare on which to use it. But what if—

The cop returns and wordlessly hands him his license. Zach’s heart hammers as he waits for what feels like the inevitable “Step out of the car, please,” but it never comes.

“So what brings you to Glendale, Zachary?” The cop says his name like he knows it’s an alias. It makes Zach’s skin crawl.

“I was visiting some friends in Pasadena. I’m just headed home to Silver Lake.” Like it says on the driver’s license I just handed you.

Nothing about the cop’s—or his buddy’s—expression betrays that they believe a word he’s saying.

“How long have you lived in Silver Lake?” It’s not just the one cop hammering him with questions, it’s the other one, too, and that makes Zach even more nervous. Are the profiling him because he’s gay? He doesn’t even sound gay.

“About 10 years.” _Of course, you can't tell_ that _by looking at my license; I only renewed it two years ago_.

The next question—“What do you do for a living?”—is cut off by the arrival of the AAA truck, and Zach wants to jump out of the car and kiss the driver. Instead, he very (very) politely says, “Please excuse me,” and steps out of the car. He absolutely does not say, “If you’re not going to arrest me, please leave so I can get my car fixed and go home.”

The cops disappear moments after the AAA guy attaches Zach's car to his tow truck.

"What was that about?" the driver asks, hooking a thumb in the direction of the police car.

"I have no idea," Zach answers honestly.

The AAA driver makes a noise of acknowledgement. "Country's getting weirder every day."

"Tell me about it."

*

Later that week, Zach meets Zoe for a lunch date. It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other, and he’s anxious to give her the details of his new project.

"They’re still looking for someone to play the part of my wife, so that’s going to be interesting. I’d suggest you, but..."

"Not even Hollywood is ready for an interracial film about one of history’s dead old white guys? No offense."

"None taken. But that’s why I didn’t throw your name out there. So I’m still waiting to see who’s cast. But I did hear something about Bradley Cooper."

"Oh, he’s pretty," Zoe answers without missing a beat.

"He’s actually going to be my love interest."

"Really?"

"No!" Zach says with a laugh. "He’s going to play one of my friends or something like that. Poe lived a really lonely life, other than the whole 'marrying his cousin' thing."

"That’s right," says Zoe. "So are they going to cast someone a lot younger than you, then?"

"I don’t know. Probably some girl from the Disney channel like Selena Gomez."

"That would be an interesting pairing. Just make sure you don’t piss off Justin Bieber."

Zach doesn’t know whether to laugh or frown, so he just rolls his eyes.

"It will probably be pretty awkward if you have to kiss her," Zoe teases.

"Okay, I am not thinking about the possibility of having to kiss Selena Gomez because it’s not happening. Although, I did have to kiss a woman recently for an audition."

"Oh?" Zoe quirks an eyebrow.

"It’s not like I can’t handle it. I’ve done it before. I’m a _professional_. Besides, I’m not the one who’s afraid of rubber snakes."

"One time, Zach! It was one time!" Zoe shouts but she’s laughing.

_They were on the set of_ Beyond, _and it had been a long day. Zach and Zoe were crammed into the captain's chair drinking coffee to stay awake._

_Someone—Zach isn’t entirely sure who—a member of the crew, most likely, looped something around his arm. He jerked in surprise, but upon realizing it was just a rubber snake, set it around Zoe's shoulders like a necklace. She glanced down and screamed bloody murder. She jumped off Zach's lap, spilling both of their coffees in the process._

_Eventually, JJ had to call it quits on the night, and for the rest of the shoot, the cast and crew took great pleasure in leaving random notes and cards about snakes around the set for Zoe to find._

"I was thinking about getting another animal," Zach muses. "Maybe a corn snake?"

"You’re an asshole. I’m not afraid of snakes. I was afraid that one had _dropped through the ceiling onto me_!"

"The way you screamed made JJ think I had attacked you."

"You did!" Zoe points an accusatory finger at him.

"Well." Zach waves a hand dismissively. What can he really say to that?

The waiter returns with his drink and takes their order. Zach adds an appetizer. "For the snake thing. As an apology."

"A few years too late, but I'll take it."

"Stop the presses! Zoe Saldana's affection can be purchased for the low low price of spinach artichoke dip!"

"Tell that to Marco."

"Speaking of, how is he?"

"Fine. He’s at home with the kids. They’re having a Harry Potter marathon."

For a moment, Zach's heart clenches. He’s always wanted kids, but it never seemed like the right time.

"How about Chris? I tried to get him to come with you, but he said he had to write or something?"

"That’s his new project. He’s quitting acting and becoming a writer."

"You’re screwing with me."

"I wish I was." Zach does his best to keep the despair out of his tone.

Zoe shakes her head. "Well..."

"So what’s your next project? Is Gamora going to be in the latest instalment of _The Avengers_?"

"I hope not!" Zoe says with a laugh. "Do you know how long it takes them to paint me green? Every day?" She shakes her head. "No, I think I’m going to stay away from epics for a while. Maybe I’ll just do a nice, family-friendly sit-com."

"Right. And I’m going to sign up to be a judge on American Idol."

Zoe laughs again. "You know me too well. No, I don’t have any projects in the works right now, although I’d love to play Misty Copeland if I ever got the chance."

"We could put something together," Zach says with a shrug. "I’ve got Before the Door. We could easily drum up some capital."

"You think so?"

"Sure, why not? I mean, we'd probably need her approval, unless we were going for a 'Lifetime original unauthorized story of' sort of thing like they did with Britney Spears."

"That would actually be... amazing," says Zoe as she thinks through the possibility.

"Talk to your people, I'll talk to mine, and we'll—"

"Do lunch?" With a smile, Zoe raises her glass. "Have I told you lately that I love the way your mind works?"

"No, but I always love hearing that." Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, Zach sits back in his chair and enjoys the fresh California breeze washing over him.


End file.
